


Seven Times a Night in Sussex Downs

by rude_not_ginger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:53:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rude_not_ginger/pseuds/rude_not_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene Adler develops more than a passing interest in Sherlock Holmes' former fiance, and decides to pay her a visit.</p>
<p>After all, no one else has managed to annoy Sherlock quite as much as Janine, and that makes Irene Adler extremely amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Times a Night in Sussex Downs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nobleyes for the Rare Pair Winter Exchange! Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!

Irene did not know Janine.

This strange woman who claimed in the papers to be the fiancé of Sherlock Holmes, who claimed to have him dozens of different times in different outlandishly deviant ways in Baker Street. No, Irene didn’t know her at all.

“You’re not jealous.” It’s a statement of fact from Sherlock’s lips. Irene is not jealous. She has the tabloid covers with the busty, olive-skinned woman on the cover framed in her flat, and Sherlock stares up at them in something akin to awe. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to see the news. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to be amused by it. Or perhaps he hadn’t expected them framed in Irene Adler’s bedroom.

“She describes you vividly, but inaccurately,” Irene replies, picking up one of her riding crops and drawing it along the side of his arm. “I like her imagination.”

“She’s attractive,” he says. This is also a statement of fact. Sherlock is a terrible judge of human beauty, and only sees things as empirical fact. It would be something that Irene would find endearing, if it didn’t occasionally bruise the ego.

Irene purrs in approval. “I keep her portrait in the bedroom for a reason, Mr. Holmes,” she says. “And not just because I need a laugh from those stories first thing in the morning.”

“Do you want her address?” Sherlock asks, turning to face her. There is never jealousy from him. While he holds some sort of paramour-like infatuation with Irene, she holds no such illusions with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind. She has her lovers, he has his cases.

“Playing matchmaker, are you?” she replies. “How unlike you.”

His eyebrows knit together, as if such a concept were something so utterly foreign to him that he couldn’t possibly fathom it.

She waves a hand, already exasperated by his innocent behavior. “If I wanted her address, Mr. Holmes, I would have it. If I wanted _her_ , I would already have her, and you know that.”

He lets out a slight _hmph_ noise, which could easily mean both that he completely agrees with her, or that he thinks she is lying. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to tell which he is saying.

He leaves after a time, as he always does, and Irene goes back to her room. Decorated lushly, with the tabloid photographs of the woman named Janine on her bedroom wall, surrounded by tinier photographs of Sherlock Holmes in his silly hat. _He made me wear the hat!_ Janine proclaims. That one was, of course, her favorite. The lush bedroom is a far cry from the one she held before her fall at the hands of Sherlock Holmes, but it is now one of five flats she holds across the globe.

Irene Adler is not one to sit idle, after all.

She does acquire Janine’s address, after a time. It isn’t difficult, and Irene Adler doesn’t need a clever detective in a funny hat to find it. She simply finds it on her own, and eventually has her driver take her there.

She stares at the tiny cottage in Sussex Downs for a time. Watches the girl in a t-shirt remove beehives and sunbathe in front of her cottage. Long, tan legs in shorts, and wild, dark hair fanned out over her shoulders. It’s a long drive from London, but Irene goes there three times simply to watch before she decides to exit the car.

It’s not nervousness that keeps her in the car the first three visits, of course. Irene Adler is not one for nerves. She simply has to approach things correctly. Every action has a consequence, and Irene is very aware of consequences, now.

She was before Karachi, of course. She’s simply _more aware_ now.

She knocks on the door to the cottage, and hears the girl approach. Curls her fingers in anticipation. There is always a level of anticipation when it comes to first meetings. Especially first meetings with beautiful women. Beautiful, intriguing women. Beautiful, intriguing women who were interesting enough to hold Sherlock Holmes’ interest for even five minutes.

Janine has held Irene’s interest for significantly longer than that.

The door opens, and Janine is standing before her. Her hair is wild, and her outfit is mussed. A t-shirt and small shorts, no brassiere. She was napping, probably on the sofa downstairs. Since retiring, the girl likes to just _relax_ wherever she lay. She _likes_ taking advantage of her desires.

Irene’s eyebrow raises. That’s a _like_ that Irene can verymuch follow.

“It’s you,” Janine says, by way of _hello._

Not the greeting Irene was expecting.

“You’ve been driving halfway up the driveway for a few weeks now,” Janine adds, gesturing. Her voice is a cool Irish burr. “It’s a small town, here. You think I wouldn’t recognize your car?”

Clever girl, then. That’s good. Irene puts on her smoothest smile. “I’m---

“Irene Adler,” Janine says. The way she says Irene’s name settles somewhere above Irene’s stomach. “I know, I’ve read all of Sherlock’s old cases. Your website’s still up. Pictures don’t do you justice.”

Janine leans against the doorframe, and the edge of her t-shirt rides up, showing just a sliver of skin at Janine’s hip. Just a hint. If Irene didn’t know better, she’d say the girl had somehow worked out what it was Irene likes----that she likes to be _teased_ , that she likes to be taunted. She likes having to work for what she wanted, and to only be shown the slightest bit of interest. It is, of course, what made Sherlock Holmes appealing. And this cool attitude from the beautiful Irish woman is _exactly_ what Irene had desired.

“Are you here to be jealous, then?” Janine asks. “Over the articles?”

Irene tilted her head. “Quite the contrary, pet,” she says. “I wanted to congratulate you on a well-written piece of fiction.”

Janine arches one delicate eyebrow, and Irene finds her breath is just slightly tighter than the last. The girl really _is_ attractive, isn’t she?

“Fiction?”

“Though funny, I will give you that,” Irene adds. “Seven times a night in Baker Street _is_ my favorite of the lot. _Him._ Seven times.”

Janine’s eyes narrow. “So---it’s true, then? You and him were----“

“I think the best part,” Irene interrupts. “Is how you knew it would be just the right thing to annoy him. He wouldn’t care if you insulted his masculinity, but to make him into a _sex symbol_ irritates him. Immensely.” She leans in, just a little. “Just between us girls, of course. He’ll never admit it.”

The fact that Sherlock is annoyed seems to absolutely delight Janine, and the girl bursts into the widest, most radiantly charming smile Irene has ever seen. Oh, but that is something else Irene likes about her: The girl seems to like coming out on top over Sherlock Holmes.

“I think I should invite you in, Miss Adler,” Janine says. “I think you’re going to be immensely useful to me.”

“I think you should,” Irene agrees. “For similar reasons.”


End file.
